Page 68 of The Academy
Jolly good,Charley thinks. She pulls on her peacoat and absconds out the back door.
East meets Charley outside the bomb shelter. His hair is a mess and he has scruff on his face, which Charley is dismayed to find only makes him hotter.
When he sees her, he breaks out into a huge smile. “Hello, Charles, how was your turkey?”
“Dry as dust,” Charley says, which is a lie. Her mother and Joey did the trendy thing and deep-fried their turkey—they sell the fryers at the garden center—and it was the best turkey Charley had ever tasted, which only intensified her resentment. “How about yours?”
“I smashed some KFC,” East says. “There’s one in Haydensboro.”
“Wait,” Charley says. “You didn’t go to New York?” She’d imagined East celebrating the holiday in some glass-walled penthouse overlooking Central Park with servants lifting silver domes off trays and dinner guests like Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco.
“I stayed here,” East says. “And worked on this place. Wait until you see it. Are you ready? Close your eyes.”
Charley obeys. East takes her hand and guides her forward.
“Okay,” he says.
Charley opens her eyes. The room,theirroom, now has new wood floors. They look antique, though they’re polished and give off a strong smell of varnish. But the more astonishing thing is thechandelierthat has replaced the single bulb in the middle of the room. It resembles an upside-down wedding cake with descending tiers of crystals. It’s classic Art Deco style and Charley immediately thinks of the F. Scott Fitzgerald story “The Ice Palace.”
“Oh my god,” Charley says. “Who did this?”
“I had some help from a couple of townies who were looking for work,” East says. “I was supposed to drive home to New York, but when I realized everyone was going to be gone until Saturday—Ms. Robinson, Spooner, even Mr. James—I turned around. These floors came out of an old mill in Dalton, Massachusetts, which is where they used to make paper for the US Mint, the paper money is printed on.”
“Provenance doesn’t get any better than that,” Charley says.
East tugs on one of her braids. “Charles appreciates provenance?”
Charley’s cheeks heat up. “Where’d you get the light fixture?”
“I ordered it from a decorator-only site,” he says. “I… kind of have someone helping me. This person has a really good eye and she has professional accounts so I can access stuff nobody else can get.”
“Who is it?” Charley asks. Her voice is spiked with jealousy. “I thought we were the only two people who knew about this.”
“We are,” East says. “Except for the two guys who helped the other day, but they think this is a sanctioned school project.”
“Plus the decorating consultant,” Charley says. “You realize the more people you tell, the greater chance we have of getting busted.”
“The decorating consultant won’t tell anyone,” East says. “Trust me.”
“Is it Davi?” Charley asks. Davi certainly has a good eye, and she might have access to design accounts through her parents.
East takes Charley by the shoulders and looks her in the eye. “It is not Davi. It would never be Davi.”
Great,Charley thinks.It’s probably some glamorous chick East knows from the city.She eyes the chandelier. There can be no arguing: It’s fabulous.
“Well, she has exquisite taste,” Charley says. “She’ll be a real asset to you down here.”
East bursts out laughing. “You are soterritorial,” he says.
“I’m not—”
“It’s my mother,” East says. “Lori Litavec, formerly Lori Eastman. She’s an interior decorator in LA.”
“Yourmother?” Charley says.
“She also thinks it’s a school-sanctioned project,” East says. “Which just goes to show how little she knows about Tiffin. But she’s very happy to help us with design elements.”
“Oh my god,” Charley says. Not Davi, not some Gen Z Kelly Wearstler. East’smotheris helping them decorate an illegal speakeasy in the bomb shelter beneath their boarding school dorms.
